


Poppy

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Mentioned of Drug Use, Mentioned of Hit & Run, Past Drug Use, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: Two years went after the event of "The Final Problem", and everyone started to settle into their lives again. Of course, there are cases, things going on and drama. But, nothing as crucial as Sherlock and Molly expecting their first child and trying to find a name amid various things going on.
Relationships: Molly Hooper/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Poppy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago... maybe two? I don't know. I didn't check the record. It was sitting in my folder for a long time as well as the few surviving stories from the computer crash of 2018. I thought I would finally post it because... why not? As usual, this is not BETA'd and please don't come for my soul.

They spent weeks fighting from the moment they found out about her pregnancy. It wasn't anything significant — no. They just couldn't agree on a name. Sherlock would suggest a name and Molly scrunch her nose telling him no. And when it was Molly was the one who came up with a suggestion, Sherlock would, in turn, come up with a million different excuses as to why the name was not a good one. It got worse when they went for a scan, and the doctor was not able to determine the gender of their child.

"I'm not calling our child  _ William _ , Molly," Sherlock said sternly. His tone was enough to indicate there ought to be no further discussion on the matter. They were at it again after they return from another doctor’s appointment. Sherlock, surprisingly, had taken great interest in Molly’s well-being throughout the pregnancy.

Alas, Molly wouldn’t be who she was if she didn’t at least question him.

"Why not?" She asked pouting. He sighed; she knew she could play him like a marionette. "It's your name."

"Yes," he replied. "Therefore you should trust me when I say it's a terrible idea to name any children of ours William.”

He remembered it well; children can be creative and cruel. Physical scars heal over time, but it seemed the emotional ones are still very apparent. The name would invite a lot of unpleasant nicknames he much rather any child of his did not have to face.

"The Duke of Cambridge's name is William," she insisted.

"Yes," he deadpanned, "with a bald spot and a growing one at that. I'm related to Mycroft, do you want to tempt fate?"

His comment earned him a giggle from the petite pathologist. She was seven months along and in her words; as big as a house. Due to her condition (and Mycroft's influence), Molly was granted early, and very long maternity leave. She had protested at first, but seeing how Sherlock had been dancing around her worriedly, she decided to agree. Her days thus far had been filled with endless pampering from various people. Mrs Hudson would bake her anything, Greg would drop by with just about anything she requested, Mary would send her assortment of home-cooked meals, and John would come to check up on her.

"Middle name?" she teased.

He rolled his eyes as he ran his palm over her swollen belly. "No, not even a fifth name."

She laughed, the ugly snort sort of laugh he found terribly endearing.

"And no to John or Mycroft or even Siger," he added. "I do like your father's name. Christopher is a good name."

"Christopher, okay. What if we have a girl?" she asked, smiling at the idea of a small little girl, the perfect blend of them. "Violet?"

Sherlock shook his head. While naming their child after a parent is great for many to remind them of the people who raised and love them, Sherlock didn’t share the sentiment. He doubted very much that either of his parents cared as it wasn’t something traditionally done in his family even when he and Mycroft were named after their ancestors, but Molly didn’t need to know that. "No, I think Mummy would appreciate the thought. But, no. How about your mother's name?"

"We can't choose both of my parents' names as a first choice," Molly said, sighing. "What would your parents say?"

"Trust me; they won't be offended." He still minded his words. There was, again, no need to share that his family values might be far removed from what’s typical. “They’ll be happy enough to be able to pamper our child.”

“Still,” she paused as she laced her fingers with Sherlock’s. “It feels unfair. They're as much our child's grandparents as my parents, and they're still around to be there for him or her.”

He nodded. "I know. But my parents are my parents. It won’t be too big of a deal if we name him or her after either of your parents."

“No, we’re going to choose something else if it’s a girl.”

The determination in Molly’s tone caused Sherlock to chuckle. “If you insist. As long as it’s not a character name from your favourite television show.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with Clara?”

“Nothing, only there will be eleven to twelve different Claras in her class by the time she started kindergarten.”

Molly frowned this time, not being able to disagree that odd was the name would be a popular one. Of course, there was nothing wrong about having the same name as your classmates, though maybe not eleven of them. She had to concede.

“Fine, we still don’t have a name if she turns out to be a girl.”

\----------

"Who's that?" Molly pointed at a young woman with brilliant curls. Her smile was bright as she had a feeling she was everyone's centre of the universe. It was the weekend, and without prompting this time, Sherlock agreed to humour her and hauled them both to dinner at his parents’ cottage. It was a bit of a drive from London.

Annoyingly enough, though expected, Sherlock had to leave for London again for the case. As much as she wanted to fight him and return with him, she knew that without Mrs Hudson, who was away for the weekend, it was better for her to stay with his parents. That was how a simple Friday dinner turned into a Saturday evening sitting on a comfortable sofa, flipping through an old photo album.

Violet took the photo album slowly from Molly, tracing the photo with her index finger lovingly before turning to look at the expecting mother. "Poppy, she was my sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister," Molly replied, shocked at how she didn't notice the familial resemblance. Though, in fairness, she wasn’t really paying attention and the woman in the picture didn’t look much like Violet in her younger pictures.

"Well, not everyone knew. She died when I was only seven," Violet explained, there was sadness in her eyes. "She was only fifteen, bright and full of life."

"How did she die?" She couldn’t help herself. Usually, she wasn’t the type to pry. Still, she was intrigued when her eyes landed back on the fading photographs and finally realising how similar the woman was to a certain detective.

A sombre look crossed Violet's face.

And she regretted it immediately. "You don't have to tell me."

“It was an accident.” Not a story Molly thought she would be listening to when she came over to this house. “I was seven at the time, and she was just turning fifteen. She was walking home from a friend’s house got hit by a car. They didn’t find her until morning because both of our parents were out of town and I was at my aunt’s that day. She was supposed to stay over at her friend’s.”

“Oh…” There was nothing Molly could really say. She wasn’t a naturally comforting person when it comes to tragedy. All the times she tried, she fumbled and she much rather not fail Violet. “...I’m sorry,” was all she managed.

Violet looked away from her for a brief moment to look at the picture. Her finger traced the edge of the album without a word. “My parents were devastated,” she said after a brief silence. “I don’t think any of them ever recovered after that. As no parent ever recover when they lose a child.”

She didn’t have to say it. Molly understood that too. In a way, Violet did know how that felt like even when things turned out in her favour at the end. The daughter she lost ended up safe and alive. Maybe not all there, but at least she was alive.

“I shouldn’t have asked. It’s bringing out all the sad memories — ” Molly attempted to apologise, but Violet was ahead of her.

“No sweetheart, it was a long time ago.” Violet closed the photo album gingerly and placed it back on the coffee table, grabbing another one as she set the previous one down. She turned back to Molly when she leaned back into the sofa. “But I do believe a change of subject is better for you seeing that we should never upset a pregnant woman.”

Molly chuckled at the quick change of Violet’s mood. Most of the time, Violet is hard to read, harder than any of her sons, who were an open book to her. Maybe it was just her, but she felt like Violet did remind her of a certain woman locked away for her safety more than others.

“What are we looking at?” She asked, deciding that if a change of topic was what Violet wanted, it was what Violet was going to get.

“Sherlock’s pictures when he was at University. He was ever such a handsome young lad.”

It was hard to miss the pride and fondness in Violet’s that Molly had to smile. She watched as the older woman flipped through the pages filled with Sherlock’s pictures when he was much younger. His hair was much, much more unruly as a boy. She had to wonder if their child would inherit those fantastic locks. It would be such a shame if they didn’t.

“How old is he?” She pointed at a picture of a scowling Sherlock. It looked like he wasn’t happy to be forced to take a picture.

“Twenty-three. It was taken after his last rehab stint at the time.”

“Last?” 

“Mycroft wouldn’t tell me anything even with threats upon his life. All I knew was that he found Sherlock, sent him to rehab, and when Sherlock came back, he changed, more or less.”

Molly was curious, whenever she thought she had Sherlock figured out, he threw her a curveball. He was like an onion. She had to peel him layer by layer, painstakingly so. “What do you mean?”

“He stopped seeing the people he was friends with, and he finished his degree. The rest, as you know it, is history.”

“He became Sherlock Holmes that we know…” Molly said, trailing off, wondering what could have inflicted such a sudden need to change in Sherlock.

“I'm glad he found you.” Violet closed the photo album with a smile. Everything good and bad immortalised in it was nothing but a memory now. She could always look back knowing that everything turned out alright in the end. “I don't think you'd know this. You become his centre of the universe the moment he laid his eyes on you,"

Molly blushed, "I highly doubt that; he barely looks at me for years."

"He met you before Barts." She shouldn’t have said that. No, but it was too late now.

"Sorry?" Molly was clearly confused.

"You were in London near the Thames with your friends, I think. He saw you from across the street." Sherlock never talked about anyone the way he did of Molly, of course, Violet Holmes would remember it well.

"How...?"

"He never kept anything from me, dear." Partially true as she would figure out when Sherlock was lying. So, not telling her the truth would have prolonged the inevitable.

"That's true." A familiar baritone voice interrupted their conversation.

"Sherlock!" Molly gasped, "I thought you're not coming back until later tonight."

"Solved the case," he replied, leaning to kiss the top of her head and then turning to kiss his mother's cheek. "Do you mind if I borrow my wife?"

"Not all, I have dinner to make." 

"I thought I'd help," Molly said.

"Don't you worry, dear."

Violet disappeared into the kitchen, clearly glad to have the conversation interrupted. After all, some stories are not hers to tell.

Molly, on the other hand, was high on emotion from what she learned in the last hour to suddenly seeing Sherlock again after being away from each other for nearly twenty-four hours. She never thought it was possible to miss him  _ that _ much considering how she went through days without him for two years during his absence. Alas, the circumstances were different.

She waited for Sherlock to settle next to her before snuggling close, unprompted. It took her a long time to find that level of comfort. Fortunately, Sherlock’s persistent ignorance of social grace and unashamed very public display of affection for her mellowed her out slowly.

“I see my mother decided to unload the family album onto you finally,” Sherlock said, gesturing towards the scattered photo albums on the coffee table. One was open at the page where a picture of smiling younger Sherlock was on. “And judging from the tail end of the conversation I caught, she told you about the Thames.”

Fidgeting was a lousy way to respond. She knew that. “She didn’t tell me anything other than you knew me before we were introduced.”

“I—” Sherlock sighed. “I didn’t  _ know _ you. I saw you, and I can’t quite explain it other than that thought about wanting to get to know you crossed my mind. And it changed my life.”

“In a good way?” She knew she sounded small.

“Everything is better from the moment I met you.”

\-------

The last days from the due date felt like an eternity and Sherlock very nearly lost his mind. He remained by her side, having forsaken all thoughts of cases as her due date approached that by the time she woke him in the middle of the night, he had driven half the yard insane with his indifference about solving the most  _ interesting _ murder case they had ever come across. Even the string of murders that may well be the work of a copycat and admirer of a certain psychopath couldn't pry him away, and John had to be his eyes and ears as he consulted from Baker Street.

"You're not the only one with a pregnant wife, you know," Dimmock had groaned at Sherlock's refusal to leave Molly's side. It took quite a bit from the detective to look for Sherlock, unlike Lestrade, and it was hurting his pride a little that Sherlock didn’t bother to glance at the case file.

"I'm fully aware of that," Sherlock had replied, "But, she's my wife and the only one I have. She is giving birth to my child. Therefore I would rather stay by her."

“You're impossible,” Dimmock made a sound akin to someone getting strangled. “People are dying!”

“Then I suggest you figure out a way to become a far more competent detective instead of blaming others. And in case you didn’t notice, people are dying here too. We’re in a hospital.”

Lestrade who caught the tail end of the conversation unsuccessfully tried to hide his laugh. And it took everything in John Watson to not fall over laughing as well.

Yes, a murder case was critical, but Sherlock was not wrong. He wasn’t a detective with the yard and therefore wasn’t bound by the same oath as either Dimmock or Lestrade. And quite frankly, in Lestrade's opinion, Dimmock had it coming.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go ahead and accompany Molly.”

Someone else might have said something, but Sherlock wasn’t listening anymore as he pushed open the door into the restricted area the detective had forced him out of earlier.

\-------

"Poppy," she said as she cradled the newborn close to her. She was exhausted but turned only briefly to look at Sherlock and smile. Glad to have a private moment between only her, Sherlock and their daughter. Somehow, someone, no doubt it was Mycroft, managed to pull strings to ensure she won’t have to be placed in a general ward. She wouldn’t have minded it, though knowing the number of people that would be showing up, she wasn’t going to complain.

He nodded, mirroring her delight, "Poppy she is."

She wanted to say more, but it was then the door burst open as she expected it. A barrage of ‘can I see her?’ and coos took over the quiet moment. She had to laugh when she saw Sherlock scowling. Before anyone knew it, baby Poppy was passed around between those present to be adored.

He even tolerated the presence of Anderson in the room, and that was a good thing.

\-------

"It was my twenty-first birthday," she said. "You saw me years before I even saw you."

Later, after everything quiet down and their families had gone home, the topic which they had put away for a quite a bit took centre stage. It wasn’t as if they didn’t want to talk about it, more like it never came up. Between the haze of becoming a parent and Sherlock dialling it up to the nines with his anxiety of becoming one, they had to deal with a lot. She  _ did _ want to talk about it when they were at his parents’ cottage, but it wasn’t the place and time.

“You saved me then,” he told Molly while stealing a glance at Poppy who was asleep in her cot.

“How?”

To Molly’s credit, even when she was dying to know what went through Sherlock’s mind, she didn’t push. She waited patiently as he gathered himself, looking so far away as if he was trying to hold on to a past that seemed too long ago because he couldn’t quite believe how that led him to a place where he was happy.

“I thought if I can change for the better, I want to make you smile. You look so sad.”

She believed him. It didn’t mean she didn’t wonder what could have happened if they didn’t waste all those times. If he didn’t waste all those times. "But you waited a long time..."

"I began to question whether I was ever good enough for you. I was an addict, Molly. Chemistry degree or not, I thought you deserved better," he admitted, looking a tad bit regretful. He was, perhaps sharing her sentiment. Admitting how he felt for her and how it was real was hard for him. She knew that he knew that. Sherlock didn’t change because he loved her, not altogether, but there were differences in the little ways he appreciated life.

"You're better. The best."

He kissed her fingers lightly. "Am I?"

"You're perfect," she said, smiling to which he laughed good-naturedly at. Molly decided, she  _ really _ liked the sound of Sherlock’s genuine laughter, something he reserved for only those closest to him.

“I beg to differ, Mrs Holmes.”

“You fell for me first,” there was utter disbelief in her tone. She was still processing how Sherlock would choose her. If she only knew Sherlock questioned how a person like her could love someone like him. “I always thought I was the one who loved you before you even knew.”

Sherlock chuckled this time. “To be fair, you figured out you’re in love with me before I even admit I was in love with you. I think that takes a lot more courage, to love someone and admit it.” So much time lost, so much time where he could have spent calling her his. But he didn’t want to regret it. “I’m sorry it took me a while.”

“That’s okay,” the smile on Molly’s face was blinding. “You always figure it out eventually, Sherlock.”

Figured out he did. And Sherlock Holmes was happy because sharing space with Molly Hooper, and now Holmes was happiness in itself. But, hearing the faint sounds made by their daughter as he held the love of his life was something else entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
